I am continually amazed at how young British kids speak.
I will not sterotype – but they are foul. They are.
I’ve never been able to swear.
What swear words decribe is so awful… these are words designed to kill.
Now, I CAN watch it on TV, and you know, there are times, as long as it’s OTHERS DOING it and the context is at least explainable, when I get it.
You have a go….try it.
You have to be angry.
You have to be protecting something that you think is under attack – namely your sense of self.
You cannot actually MEAN what you are saying, and if you do, there is no denying how depraved you are.
I don’t believe people who swear have ANY idea what they are saying. Think about it. They have to look like they do, they have to sound so ‘ARD, that even their mothers are game.
But really…it’s because they don’t believe that words can harm, and they won’t be responsible for ‘just words’. These words kill their speakers. Utterly. You cannot ask for forgiveness for profane-ness against your mother unless you invoke – at the very end – I didn’t mean it.
It’s astonishing, and I’m embarrassed that at this age I find it so.
I haven’t spent the day with people. I haven’t listened to conversation, nor engaged with it, and this weekend I’m in a silent retreat so if tomorrows meditation is still on conversation then I’m #$%^*&ed!
You know, when my niece died, her mother stood up at the end of the funeral, after everyone had said what people have to say about dead people, and said – she never shouted at me. Ever.
I may not have been the best Son in the world. I think I’ve shouted at my mother once and that was bad enough. I have NEVER sweared at her. Or my sisters. Or my lovers.
I have used those words before, in situations, at life, rarely.
I’m not a prude. I just cannot look at a person and swear at them.
Perhaps I haven’t faced the right person. If I were Syrian….a woman raped…a citizen victimised by the police. I don’t know.
But I AM GRATEFUL for that, deeply so.
I am thankful that my spirit would not allow a habit to form from which there is no return.
More than anything else, we are the owners of what we say – and will be judged that way. Every single thing we have ever said will be brought to question, whether or not we can explain it.
My Grandmother once showed me (she had this way of spinning dreams) that justice is the sound of you in heaven.
It’s like smearing myself in *&%$ and walking around, wondering why no-one likes me.
It’s like digging your own grave and it’s inescapable. Mercy may defend you from what you do to others but I don’t know if even Jesus can stand between you and your words.
It’s a question that I’m gonna ask him tonight.
It’s been a dusty day, everyone’s brushed the same caramel brown, and Jesus .is doing cabaret at the camp fire.